The Radio Left Off
by planet p
Summary: AU; the neighbours are having a loud party, and she can’t think what she’s going to make for tea. Anne-Britt/Kurt


**The Radio Left Off** by planet p

**Disclaimer** I don't own _Wallander_ or any of its characters.

* * *

Her hands are on his face, rough beneath her fingertips, grazing her palms; she kisses him, tasting his mouth, and he backs her against the wall, surprisingly large to her surprisingly small. Excitement rolls off her in waves, seeping from somewhere between her skin and her soul. Even if she wants to, which she doesn't, she can't stop this, not _now_.

She's tangled up in him, and he's tangled up in her, and she can't stop kissing him.

He tastes nothing like he looks, usually. He's not gloomy, he's exciting. He excites her. She wants to touch him all over, touch every bit of him, as tiny as it may be. She _needs_ to, but she's kissing him, and it'll have to wait.

His hands move over her exposed skin like he's navigating a map, her hands cling to him like he's her anchor. When he touches her, she _believes_ magic is _real_; when he touches her like he's touching her now, she knows he's a magician; he can do magic – and she's his assistant, they'll make magic here, like this.

She clings to him as he clings to her.

A particularly loud peel of laughter wakes her from the fantasy. She's on the train, she's going home. She's alone.

For a moment, her stomach knots. And then reality comes crashing in. Such as she'd been dreaming would never happen; she could never let it.

She adjusts herself to sit up in a more upright position in the chair, trying not to pay undue attention to her complaining neck muscles, and referees her breathing back into line, and her eyes back to a sensible wideness.

She'll be home soon; she needs to think about what she'll be making for tea. She sets her mind to the task and tells herself that the tingling in her lips is because she's thirsty; what else would it seriously be?

* * *

He wakes with a jerking movement in the car… in front of his house. After a while, refraining from rubbing eyes, he remembers that he hadn't wanted to go inside just yet.

It's dark outside, now. _It's probably time_, he thinks. He reaches for the doorhandle, then changes his mind.

_No, actually…_ He decides, instead, that he'll go out for dinner. Yes, that sounds a little more exciting than sitting in front of the television trying to eat something he truly doesn't want to eat because it's horrendous.

He's tired, truth be told, but he's still got to eat, hasn't he.

Nothing's going to change that fact.

He turns the key in the ignition and frowns. He can't quite remember what he'd been dreaming, but he remembers that it hadn't been a bad dream.

With a sigh, he takes the car out of park. _It's probably nothing_, he thinks. Probably just… something rather mundane…the ocean as still as pond in someone's backyard, a kite sailing through Scandinavian skies, a supermarket aisle where the prices aren't a blatant disgust…

He suppresses a chuckle at that and puts his mind to the road. It's rather unsafe to be thinking on other things when he should be thinking on the road conditions, he admits to himself.

* * *

She stands in her kitchen and it's so bright, it's too bright, it makes her stomach ill with faltering cartwheels; she feels _lost_ in her _own_ kitchen. She can't think what to make for tea, and the neighbour's got the music up to ridiculous levels again.

She sees her kitchen utensils shiver and jangle against the wall; she feels sicker.

She needs to get out of this house. Her head pounds.

* * *

She's absolutely surprised to see him standing in front of the door she's just walked up to and stopped before. It's closed, the shop is closed, too. She feels herself deflate, but not completely. She's not alone, after all.

She can't let her shoulders drop and her feet shuffle her around and then back to her car; that'd be an embarrassment. "What will we do now?" she asks her co-worked as though they'd planned this all along, and the shop had planned against them, winning, in the end. With a small conspiratorial smile, she thinks, if she could take a peek at her face in the darkened glass and she it reflected back before her.

"I think we shall just have to find somewhere else," he tells her, at length.

She lets the sound of his voice carry her away, for a moment, so that she has to abruptly snap back to reality.

It's dark and cold, the shop they'd turned up to take tea in is shut, and they're standing on the footpath somewhat idly.

Her smile falters. She keeps it in place; it'd just look… odd if she wiped it from her face at this particular point. It'd signal something that she wasn't intending to signal, she's sure. "Will we… accompany each other?"

A familiar frown peppers his darkened face. "I think we will," he says, finally.

"Well, in that case," she replies, speaking with fervour rather than slowness, "then I think that it should be your choice where we go." She offered a shrug. "I've brought my car… but… it's not my part of town."

He nods, he understands. He will choose the place; she'll follow in her car and find a parking space. He turns on the spot… unless… His frown returns to its favourite spot on his face and he glances at her. "What about that place?" he asks, indicating a shop across the road.

She squints through the darkness, her eyes narrowing. She feels her breath come back to her as she lets it out; it warms her cheeks. "Why not!" she agrees cheerfully.

He gives a short nod. Then, it'll be there; they won't even have to move their cars. It's convenient, certainly. They'll just have to see how the food is… and how the prices are, his mind reminds him.

_Oh, yes_, he thinks.

They cross the inky road, not quite together, not quite apart.

Standing under the restaurant's jarring, bright lights, he takes the door for her. She steps inside with a smile. Warm air gushes out to meet him before he follows her inside and returns the door to its frame behind them.

* * *

They've had perhaps a little too much wine to drive, so, as they leave the restaurant, they decide, unanimously, to take a walk.

The night is cold, but they're smiling and they're together. The cold touches at the edges of their consciousnesses, but it doesn't reach any father. It's there, it's not incommodious.

Further along the footpath, away from the restaurant, as they're passing an insurance office, she stretches out a hand and is surprised to feel his hand come to join her, closing around hers warmly.

She doesn't comment on it; she's afraid he might take it back.

In the dark, it's a nice gesture, she thinks. She feels safe when he's holding her hand, though she couldn't say why if she was ever asked to explain.

Tonight, they've risen up out of the roles they put themselves to each day and they'd become something more like the people they really are. She feels free. The stinging air is a friend, the dark is inviting.

Then, too soon, they've crossed the road and she finds they've walked all the way back down to their cars. She feels the breath leave her; she feels herself take a new breath to replace the old one.

She turns her face to his, her hand going cold even before he's let go of it.

She finds their faces are suddenly too close. She feels her breath touch his face. It steals the smile from his face right before her eyes.

Her breast hurts; the cold is suddenly keenly felt.

Something warm touches her lips, pressing against them with a comfortable weight. Her mind stutters. Her heart freezes beneath her breast. _His lips_, she thinks, with breathlessness.

Could it be?

He breaks the kiss. She touches his arm. _Oh, gosh, what do we do now?_

_It's probably just as well_, she thinks. Her fingers fall from his arm.

"Well… ah…" He's not looking at her, he's looking at the pavement where he can, if he peers into the gloom, just make out his shoes, "I suppose it would be the proper thing to do to wish you goodnight, at his point." He falters, "Goodnight, Anne-Britt."

She can't force a smile, though he can't know her thoughts, he can't know of what she'd been dreaming. "Goodnight…, Kurt," she returns.

He shuffles his shoes on the pavement, she can hear the scuffling noise like something scratching to free itself from underneath the concrete.

She turns and walks toward her car. She'd cold, and it's dark. He doesn't call after her. She takes out her key and opens the car door. _Silly dream_, she thinks.

When she looks, he's already retreated to his own car. She lets him go out first.

She leaves the radio off on the drive home.

* * *

**Do tell me if she's married or anything, won't you. Thanks for reading.**


End file.
